


Cut you (like you want me to)

by FaeryQueen07



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, Consensual Kink, Cutting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-10
Updated: 2011-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeryQueen07/pseuds/FaeryQueen07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> He wants to get up, wants to move away and say that they can’t do this, but Merlin already looks ashamed of his reaction and that won’t do. Arthur isn’t ashamed, but he doesn’t want to hurt Merlin. He does, however, </i>want<i>. And the want is what keeps him there, straddling Merlin’s thighs with the dagger clenched in his hand. It only takes a moment for him to make a decision.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut you (like you want me to)

The first time it happens, it’s completely by accident, and Arthur has his mouth open to apologize, to tell Merlin that he hadn’t meant to do that, but then he sees the look on Merlin’s face, sees the faint blush, the blown pupils, the lips that are slightly parted and his breath catches in his throat, chokes the words from him. When the air rushes out of his lungs, Arthur has a moment of lightheadedness because he’s so hard it _hurts_. And that, that seems so very wrong, but it also feels _right_.

“You...you liked that.” The words almost sound like an accusation, but Arthur can’t help it. This is different, new, something he never would have guessed. About either of them.

“I—yeah, I guess. Sorry. You don’t—if it bothers you....”

Merlin looks away and the blush deepens, but his cock is hot and hard against Arthur’s, the heat of it seeping past their breeches. Arthur glances down at the small dagger he’s clutching, at the sliced laces of Merlin’s trousers and at the line of red scoring his stomach. Something in his gut tightens and Arthur shakily lifts the blade up, staring at the barely-there streak of blood at the tip.

He wants to get up, wants to move away and say that they can’t do this, but Merlin already looks ashamed of his reaction and that won’t do. Arthur isn’t ashamed, but he doesn’t want to hurt Merlin. He does, however, _want_. And the want is what keeps him there, straddling Merlin’s thighs with the dagger clenched in his hand. It only takes a moment for him to make a decision.

“I—you have to heal it. When we’re done.”

Merlin’s head snaps up, his eyes wide with shock, hope and something else, something warmer and deeper that Arthur can’t deal with, not on top of everything else. So he shifts back, slides off Merlin’s lap and sets the dagger aside so that he can strip them both of their remaining clothes. Then he’s back, settling into place between Merlin’s splayed thighs.

He strokes the smooth skin with his fingers, already imagining the marks he will make. He knows they’ll disappear when Merlin heals them, but in the brief time they exist there will be physical proof that Merlin is his. Arthur’s. He glances up once more, meets Merlin’s desperate gaze and nods.

His hand is shaking when he brings the sharp point to the inside of Merlin’s thigh and he has to stop and take a deep breath to calm himself because this—this has to be good for Merlin. Has to somehow reciprocate the trust that Merlin is displaying both in asking for this and in allowing Arthur to be the one who does it, who has Merlin open and vulnerable to him.

The first stroke is the hardest for Arthur and he thinks it might be a bit deeper than he intended because Merlin hisses. He reconsiders when he sees the way Merlin’s cock jerks and leaks. Arthur reaches up with his free hand, his thumb swiping over the head and smearing the moisture gathered there, causing Merlin to groan aloud.

“God,” Arthur croaks. Then he’s focusing once more on Merlin’s pale skin, the dagger and the thin red line of blood that is welling up.

The second cut is a bit easier and the third and fourth are urged on by Merlin’s panting gasps, his fingers clutching at the sheets and the angry purple-red head of his cock begging for more. Arthur bends to his task but stops when he realizes that the blood is seeping out, covering his work. He doesn’t stop to think about it, doesn’t hesitate because this is _Merlin_ and there is no part of Merlin that Arthur doesn’t want – or hasn’t had – so this really is no different. Careful to keep the blade pointed away, he bends down and swipes his tongue over the area, clearing away the blood.

Merlin arches into the touch, his voice ragged as he calls out Arthur’s name. It’s amazing how undone he’s becoming and in that moment, Arthur knows. This isn’t the first time Merlin has done this, though judging by his reaction earlier, it’s the first time there’s been a second party involved. For some reason, that only makes Arthur’s desire burn all the hotter.

It becomes a pattern; Arthur cuts a fine line into the trembling flesh of Merlin’s thigh, then soothes away the sting with his tongue, laving the area as thoroughly as possible. He wonders what Merlin will think of his design, this miniature depiction of Arthur’s sword, then remembers that it doesn’t really matter.

By the time Arthur is done, Merlin is practically weeping with his need to come. His fingers are twisted in sweat-soaked sheets and his body is all but thrumming with power. Arthur can see it just beneath the surface. The faint gold makes it almost seem as though Merlin is glowing, but Arthur knows that it is magic – the purest magic that could possibly exist – and it’s right here, trapped within this body writhing under his touch. It is both awe-inspiring and humbling and Arthur presses a quick kiss to the mark he’s cut into Merlin’s skin, then pulls away.

“What—what is it?”

Merlin’s voice is rough and he’s absolutely wrecked, but his eyes are alert and sharp. Arthur rubs his thumb over the cuts, smearing the blood, then brings it to his mouth.

“A sword,” he replies. “Next time—next we’ll plan it out.”

Merlin’s eyes flare gold, but the cuts remain, the blood gathering slowly, trickling down in fine rivulets. Arthur lets go of Merlin’s thigh and leans in, brings his hand between then to cup Merlin’s balls then slip further back and he lets out a soft groan when he realizes that Merlin is slick and open, ready for him.

As Arthur moves up, as he pushes into Merlin’s body, he braces himself and drops his mouth to the shell of Merlin’s ear.

“Next time, I want to mark you all over. I want to write my name in your flesh, put my seal on you. Not the Pendragon seal. No, my own personal seal. I want to carve into your stomach, want to bathe each cut with my tongue, taste you sharp and heavy in my mouth.” He shifts, withdraws and thrust back in, taking his time finding a rhythm he can maintain with little conscious thought. “God Merlin, I want—I want to know when I look at you, when I’m sitting through one of those horrid council meetings and you’re standing in the corner with your pitcher of water, that you can feel the memory of my marks. That you know you belong to me and only me.”

“God, yes. _Yes_ , Arthur. I want that. Want it so much.”

“And later, when I’m done, you can do it to me.”

Merlin jerks hard at the words, the mere _idea_ that Arthur would let Merlin mark him pushing him closer to the edge. He whimpers and presses back towards Arthur, urging him deeper. “Oh _god_ , Arthur.”

“You want that.” Arthur isn’t surprised or even shocked. Not now, after everything else they’ve been through together and he thinks that if there is anyone he trusts to do something like this to _him_ , it’s Merlin. It’s _always_ Merlin.

The answer is Merlin dragging Arthur closer, gripping Arthur tightly with his thighs as he twines the fingers of one hand in Arthur’s hair and pulls him in for a hungry, desperate kiss that says _yes, yes, yes_ and _oh please, let me_ and a million other things they cannot voice, not yet.

The dagger is right _there_ and Arthur is reaching for it before he even realizes it, but once it’s in his hand, it doesn’t matter. He’s seen what the touch of cool steel to warm skin does to Merlin and it’s enough to have Arthur pressing the blade to the points of Merlin’s sternum. He puts all his weight on his free hand and slowly increases the amount of pressure until the tip sinks into Merlin’s skin. Then he’s dragging it down, cutting a long line from the base of Merlin’s throat almost to his navel before Arthur tosses it aside in favour of lapping up the long, red line.

It doesn’t take much, just the press of Arthur’s tongue _inside_ the cut, and Merlin is coming, arching up into Arthur’s mouth as he cries out brokenly. It must sting, Arthur thinks, his release landing on the torn skin, but the sharp jerks of his body, the involuntary tightening of his arse, rips what little control Arthur has been clinging to away and then Arthur is coming, mouth fastening over the cut, licking and gently sucking as he empties himself into Merlin.

It takes Merlin what feels like forever to regain conscious afterwards. He’s still latched onto Arthur, holding him close, but he releases his deathly grip so that Arthur can shift up – still pressed firm inside Merlin – and drop a kiss to Merlin’s lips. The flavor is sharp, metallic and Merlin realizes he is tasting another part of himself on Arthur. A soft moan escapes him as he seeks out the rest, greedy for it.

When they do eventually pull apart, Arthur can only flop to the side uselessly. His eyes drift shut and he is about a minute away from falling asleep when he feels the curling warmth of Merlin’s magic sliding over him, cleaning away the mess of their activities. He wants to protest it, wants to let the stain of Merlin’s blood linger on his skin, but it is too late and there will be other chances. He sighs and cracks open an eye so that he can locate Merlin before dragging him down into his arms. The blankets that were shoved to the end of the bed earlier sort themselves out, tucking themselves in around Arthur and Merlin.

They both know that perhaps more needs to be said about this, but tomorrow brings with it opportunities for that. For now...for now, Arthur wants nothing more than to go to sleep like this, with Merlin curled about him, his head snug under Arthur’s chin and his long, lean legs tangled with Arthur’s muscular ones. Tomorrow they’ll sort out the rest.  



End file.
